


Plunge

by ruxian



Series: Book of Pain [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Established Relationship, Liam-centric, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pack Feels, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruxian/pseuds/ruxian
Summary: Liam was caught in a riptide, pulling him under and plunging him into darkness faster than he could think, tearing him further and further away from shore with every choking breath.Liam was drowning.drowning drowning drowning–





	Plunge

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a really bad headspace again so I'm taking it out on Liam. Please please please proceed with caution when reading. Heavy and graphic topics are ahead.

Liam was tired. 

So, so, _so_ tired. 

It was too much. Everything was too much. 

It was a tired that ran bone deep, a tired that weighed him down, down until all he could do was lie on his bed, not even under the covers. 

A tired that made him move as if he were attached to marionette strings. Slow, on autopilot from place to place, feet shuffling. 

A tired that hurt. 

It hurt so much. 

His head throbbed every second of every day. His body ached, ached in a way his healing couldn’t fix, ached in a way that made him want to scream, to cry, but at this point he could barely even breathe. It hurt in a way that made him dizzy, head forever spinning, _spinning spinning spinning–_

It didn’t stop, it never _stopped_. He just wanted it to fucking _stop_. Just for a moment, a second, so he could catch his breath. 

It would ease some days, just a little, just a slight loosening of a vice grip around his throat. Days when he was surrounded by his dearest friends, by the people he loved most, when they would make him laugh and hug him close. Days when he could pretend he wasn’t a child soldier, wasn’t fighting a damn war because he was a wolf who looked like a seventeen year old boy. Days when he could pretend that his biggest worries were about studying for Calculus, and what to get his best-friend for his birthday next month. Days when he could pretend he was normal. 

Normal. 

Who was he kidding?

He’d never been _normal_. 

Normal was a foreign word. A word that that felt weird on his tongue. Normal was a language he didn’t speak, a culture he had no right to. 

It didn’t apply to him when he was a kid, wearing long sleeves in the California heat to hide what had happened after his Dad’s favorite baseball team lost and he’d had one too many beers. 

It didn’t apply to him when he became a teenager, and he sat across from a psychiatrist who gently told him he had a condition called Intermittent Explosive Disorder, along with a new prescription for an antipsychotic. 

It didn’t apply to him when he stupidly wandered out into the hall with a busted ankle, and got bitten by a werewolf on the roof of a hospital. 

Normal never applied to Liam Dunbar. They were antonyms, opposites, enemies. 

It was getting harder to pretend his IED was getting better. 

He tore apart his favorite pair of sneakers with his claws after being unable to tie the laces right. He’d had to ask Mason to take him to buy new sheets and a poster to cover the hole in his wall after he couldn’t figure out a Physics problem. He nearly wolfed out on his parents a few times because they nagged him about his grades.

Everything was too much. 

He missed Scott. He missed Stiles and Lydia and Malia. He missed his pack. He missed their presence, missed the safety he felt when he was standing next them. 

He missed them all, in so many different ways. 

They weren’t gone, just scattered, but they were out of his reach and it _hurt_. 

_Everything hurt so fucking much_.

It was exhausting. His fickle control was slipping more and more each day, making it harder and harder to pretend he was a human when a beast prowled under his skin. Making it harder and harder to keep his fingertips blunt and soft instead of razor sharp and deadly, harder and harder to keep his teeth dull, eyes weak. 

He was in so far over his head. 

Scott left him in charge. _Him. Liam_. For some reason, Scott trusted him to watch over Beacon Hills. There was no way he could let him down. 

And he tried, he really, _really_ tried. 

He patrolled the preserve when he had more than ten minutes to spare, volunteered at the Animal Clinic with Deaton when he needed an extra set of hands, stayed on as captain of the Lacrosse team, made sure all of his friends were safe, brought Melissa dinner when he had a few extra dollars, he did everything he could. 

But it was too much. 

Too much stress, too many battles, too many bullets and arrows pulled out of his body on a metal table meant for Golden Retrievers. 

Too much, _too much too much too much–_

How the fuck did Scott _do_ this?

If this was what it was like to be an alpha, even if it was just a taste, then he would happily have his eyes remain gold forever. 

Liam was caught in a riptide, pulling him under and plunging him into darkness faster than he could think, tearing him further and further away from shore with every choking breath. 

Liam was drowning.

_drowning drowning drowning–_

 

…

 

Liam shuffled his way downstairs. 

His legs were tired and heavy; it was well after 8:30pm and he hadn’t eaten yet today, but it was fine because Theo was on the couch, relaxed into the cushions. Vaguely, he could hear the sounds of whatever was playing on the TV, but didn’t bother to figure out what it was. It didn’t matter anyway; all he cared about was that Theo’s legs looked comfy. 

He made a beeline over to Theo, plopping himself down with his head in his lap without saying a word. He squished himself on the couch to fit, legs pulled up tight against the cushions, turning his face into Theo’s lower stomach. 

The TV paused. 

“You okay?” Theo asked, voice soft and quiet. A hand found its way into his hair, another resting on his arm. 

He shook his head. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

Another shake. 

“Okay…” Theo said softly. The thumb on his arm started moving in gentle circles. “Wanna watch the movie with me? It’s X-Men.” 

“Which one?” He muttered. 

“First Class. It only started about twenty minutes ago, so you didn’t miss much, but I can go back if you want.” 

“It’s okay, I’ll just listen.” He whispered, but they both knew that just meant he was going to sleep. 

He was so tired. 

“Suit yourself.” Theo said, and suddenly the hand in his hair was gone, just for a second, a moment, but it was still too long. He nuzzled into Theo’s stomach, grumbling with a frown. 

The TV resumed, volume down low. 

“I’m right here, you dork; not goin’ anywhere.” Theo’s voice was soft, gentle, gentle like the fingers carding through his hair, just how he liked. 

Gentle in the way he thought would never be possible for Theo. For either of them. 

Neither of them could be considered gentle creatures. They were violent by nature, loud and brasen like thunder, clashing, harsh and bitter and deadly. 

Maybe that’s why they worked so well together. Two sides of the same coin, they could understand each other, find peace in each other’s violence. 

He took a deep breath, letting Theo’s scent–something warm, bitter, and just a little artificial, like plastic, if you knew to look for it–take him over. It calmed his nerves, so frayed and raw, in a matter of seconds. 

Liam fell asleep to fingers brushing against his scalp and a warm hand petting his arm. 

 

… 

 

This was their third fight this week. 

If he was being honest, he didn’t even remember what the fight was about. It was probably over something stupid. 

But here they were, shouting at each other, eyes glowing brilliant blue and gold, claws on the tips of each hand. 

Blood was dripping onto Liam’s socks. 

He knew the fight was probably his fault. It was always his fault, he always said stupid things when he was upset, let his anger lead him without thinking. 

It made him sick to his stomach. 

He just wished it would _stop_. 

He hated fighting with Theo. Hated hated _hated_ it. 

It reminded him too much of when they weren’t on the same side. Too much of a time where the name Theo Raeken made his blood boil and the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. 

(Too much of a library and broken windows. Too much of a line of Mountain Ash he didn’t remember getting passed.) 

He always fucked everything up, didn’t he? 

He doesn’t process what Theo’s saying, doesn’t stop to think about the venomous words spitting off his tongue before they pass his teeth. 

He wishes he did. 

_“I should’ve put you back in the ground when I had the fucking chance!”_

He wishes he stopped for just a second, a fucking second, did something else, anything, anything at all that would have stopped the look on Theo’s face. 

He looked _broken_. 

“Yeah…” He says, voice so quiet and shaky there’s no way it belongs to Theo. There are tears in his eyes. “Yeah, you should have.”

Liam can’t fucking _breathe_. 

“I-I… Theo, _no_ , I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean it, I–” 

“Just stop talking!” Theo shouts, sounding just shy of human, but his eyes have stopped glowing now. “Just… _stop. Talking._ ” Theo begs. 

_Begs._

Oh, God, he really broke him. 

He wants to throw up. 

Because Theo is _crying. Theo is fucking crying._

Theo doesn’t cry. Not when he has a nightmare, not when he has broken bones, not when he thinks his dead sister is lingering in the corner of the room. Theo doesn’t cry. 

Liam made him cry. 

Theo is shattering into a million pieces right before his eyes, and all Liam can do is watch. 

“I–” Theo chokes, flexing his hands once, twice. He hopes that he’ll just form a fist and hit him, hard enough to break bone, as many bones as he wants. “I need to go… I said I would help Mason with his Biology homework.” Theo says, but Liam knows it’s a lie. 

His heartbeat is steady as he walks past him, down the stairs and slams the door to his truck, but it’s a lie. 

A lie, lie, lie.

Theo just needs to get away. 

Away from him. 

Away from a monster. 

Liam doesn’t blame him in the slightest.

 

… 

 

Theo comes back in the middle of the night, smelling of booze that couldn’t have worked and salty tears. There are no chemosignals to find, and Liam hates himself for making him go back to that old habit. 

For the first time since they got together, and even in the months before, Theo sleeps in his own bed. 

Liam doesn’t sleep at all. 

 

…

 

Impulse control has always been one of his worst qualities. 

His psychiatrist said that’s a part of his IED. Said that he’d have to work incredibly hard to stave off his impulses. Said that most of them would be violent. 

She was right. 

His impulses came in the form of dented lockers, trashed cars, and red cards on the field. 

(Came in the form of claws, barreling down without mercy on the one person who didn’t judge him, who listened and tried to help.)

They came in the form of broken mirrors now, too. 

Theo hasn’t spoken to him in three days. Hasn’t even looked, _breathed_ in his direction. 

And that’s fine. He deserves it. He knows he does. 

But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. 

He failed his Bio test and he got benched at practice and Theo won’t talk to him and even though he’s had his _stupid fucking mantra_ on repeat all day long it didn’t do _shit_ and–

_Hated hated hated it._

It was with a roar that he brought his fist down on the mirror, once, twice, three times. 

Glass lay in between his knuckles, spilling blood into the bowl of the sink along with those reflective shards. 

He found distorted gold eyes staring back at him. 

The sun, the moon, and the fucking truth.

_Hated hated hated ha–_

He gripped the sides of the sink, hard, ignoring the way the porcelain creaked and groaned under his grip, instead too focused on the claws protruded from his fingertips. 

He hated those, too. 

Hated what they had done, who they had hurt, how he had hurt them. Hated the blood they drew. 

Impulse control has always been one of his worst qualities. 

His breathing was harsh, rough and underlined by a sound that wasn’t human, as he ripped each claw off, one-by-one. 

The sound and sight it made was disgusting, horrifying, but he barely even noticed. He just kept going, ripping, tearing, working mechanically. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. 

The pain didn’t matter, didn’t register, all that mattered was that these monstrous features get the fuck off of him. 

His fingers were slippery with blood by the time the last claw clattered into the bowl of the sink. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, hands hovering, shaking, _bleeding_ into the sink, white stained a disgusting shade of red, before he came to. 

It was always like coming out of a haze. Like walking through a fog that consumed you, drove you mad because it seemed never-ending, no matter which direction you took, how far you walked, ran, and finally, _finally_ coming out into the sunshine. Into rational thinking. 

It wasn’t sunshine this time. It never was. 

This time it was a sink full of blood and claws and glass that greeted him. This time it was incredible pain shooting up his arms, faster and harsher than his healing could fix. 

Sharp, panicked breaths filled his lungs, too fast, too deep, too much. His arms crashed against the sink, the only things holding him up and keeping him from collapsing onto the tile floor. 

There was blood there, too. 

_What did he do?_

“Oh God…” 

The smell of his own blood was choking him. 

His hands were trembling, _hurting_. 

He has to clean this up, how is he going to clean this up, he has to–

The front door slammed. 

His heart stalled. If his parents found him like this–

“Liam?!” 

Theo. It was just Theo. 

He hadn’t heard his truck. 

He released a breath. 

Theo bolted up the stairs, steps loud and heavy, and in a matter of seconds there he was, slamming the door to the bathroom into the wall with his eyes wide in panic. 

Liam couldn’t bear to look at him. 

“Liam… What did you… What did you _do?_ ” 

Tears welled in Liam’s eyes. It hurt so much, in so many ways. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Theo look around, look at the destroyed and bloodied mirror, and his claws in the sink. Theo swallowed. 

The Chimera took slow steps, as if he were approaching a fawn instead of a wolf. The hand that hovered over Liam’s shoulder was shaking. 

Theo was making that expression he always did when something surprised him: brows down low and a little furrowed, eyes wide and his lips parted just enough to show his tongue. 

He’d seen it when Malia shouted at him in the police station, when Scott had asked him if he was okay after taking Gabe’s pain, when Liam showed him how to cook a proper meal. It always meant that Theo didn’t know what was going on in front of him. 

To be honest, Liam didn’t know either. 

“Okay.” Theo said, seconds, minutes, hours later. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” His voice was so quiet. 

Theo guided him over to the toilet, putting the lid down before he gently made him sit on top of it. His touch was light, tentative, like he didn’t want to touch him at all. 

Liam didn’t know if it was from shock or disgust. He didn’t want to know, honestly. 

“Let me see your hands.” Theo was monotone, blank. Liam raised his hands so he could see. 

With a feather-light touch, Theo took his battered and bloodied hands in his own, turning them in different directions so he could see the damage he had caused. The glass in between his knuckles glittered under the bathroom light, blood shining in a perfect reflection of the light bulb above their heads. There was so much of it. So much red slick, getting all over Theo’s hands and dripping onto Liam’s jeans. 

“It doesn’t look like you broke any bones, at least.” Theo said quietly, gently setting his hands down on his lap. 

Theo moved over to the sink, sighing deeply at its contents. His face was painfully blank. Green eyes flicked over to him, staring at the mangled mess in his lap for a second, two, before finally looking back at the sink. 

With great care, Theo picked out each claw, gently setting them down behind the faucet so they wouldn’t fall to the tiles below. When all ten were out, Theo turned on the tap, rinsing his own hands until they were clean. Letting the water run as he shook his hands dry, he reached up, carefully pulling the mirror open to get at the medicine cabinet behind it. Theo rummaged for a few moments until he seemed to find what he was looking for, setting it down on the bowl of the sink and then ever so slowly closing the mirror again. 

Glass crunched and fell at the movement, and Theo blew a harsh breath from his nose. 

Gentle, always so gentle with him, even when he least deserved it, Theo got him to stand and brought him back to the sink. 

His legs felt like lead. His body felt cold, heavy as he moved. It always felt like that after an ‘episode’, always felt like he had just run a marathon, like someone had unplugged him and left him there to rot. There was a churning pit low in his belly, worse than any butterflies he’d ever felt. It made him nauseous. 

Oh so carefully, Theo brought his hands under the tap, now just a trickle, taking his time to clear as much blood as he could from his hands. Once Theo seemed satisfied, he picked up a pair of tweezers from the edge of the sink. 

“Hold still, okay?” 

Liam nodded. 

Leaning in close with his eyes aglow, Theo carefully picked out every shard, every sliver of glass from his mangled hand. It hurt, it throbbed, ached and stung, but he didn’t make a sound. Didn’t flinch. 

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but soon enough Theo’s eyes were back to their normal green and he was setting the tweezers down on the sink. He wasn’t looking at him. 

A moment, three, and Theo finally turned that beautiful green gaze back to him. It was blank. Empty. Familiar. 

It was Theo concealing his emotions, like he never did anymore. 

This gaze hurt, deep in his chest. 

Liam said nothing. 

Mercifully, Theo looked down at his hands, so he followed his lead. 

The broken skin was finally knitting itself back together, slowly. So, so slowly. But it was. If he squinted, he could see the beginning of fingernails poking through his cuticles. They’d probably be back to normal by dinnertime. 

Everything would be back to normal. Physically, at least. 

The mirror wouldn’t heal. He had no idea how he was going to explain that away. Or the claws. Or the blood on the floor. Or–

A hand wiped his cheek. It was wet. Was he crying? He’s not supposed to be crying. 

Theo’s brows were pinched together when he looked up at him. A tiny tendril of concern hit his nose, just enough to cut through the stench of his blood. 

“Go sit down. I’ll take care of this.” Theo said, still so quiet quiet quiet. 

He wanted to protest, wanted to say that this was his mess and he’d deal with it, but his body was too drained to do so. With a nod, Liam shuffled off to his room, curling up in his bed, along the edge and on top of the covers.

He let out a shuddering breath. 

What was wrong with him?

Was this what Scott felt like? Is this why things were so bad when Theo first showed up? If so, he owes Scott an extra fifty-thousand apologies. Because this… 

This was unbearable. 

His medication wasn’t doing anything anymore, he’s tried. He’d tried taking what must’ve been a dangerous amount only for absolutely nothing to happen. 

There was no point in telling his Psychiatrist. What was he supposed to say, anyway? That he’s stressed from his duties as a makeshift alpha? That he’s tired of being shot at by werewolf hunters? It wasn’t like she could give him a pill that could make a war go away. 

It wouldn’t work anyway. 

When it rains it pours, he supposed. 

Liam watched his fingernails slowly creep back into place over his inflamed nail beds. They throbbed, sending hot pain up his arms, but he just felt cold down to his core. Numb. 

Theo was making a bit of noise in the bathroom, the distinct sound of glass being swept across a floor scratching at his ears. He listened as Theo shuffled around, even making a trip downstairs to get God knows what.

He followed the sound of Theo’s heartbeat, followed the steady _‘thump-thump’_ as it moved from place to place in the house, let it drown out everything from the harsh chemicals Theo was no doubt using to clean up his blood, to the sound of Theo taking the mirror off the wall. It gave him something else to focus on, at least.

He had no idea how much time had passed before Theo finally stepped into the room. The Chimera paused, taking a breath, two, then finally walked over to the bed and sat down. He put his right hand on Liam’s thigh. 

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Theo was so quiet, barely above a whisper. 

Liam swallowed. 

A beat. 

“I…” He exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes. “I don’t know.” 

Quiet quiet quiet. 

Theo squeezed his thigh gently. “Was this… Did this have anything to do with our fight?” He cleared his throat. “Were you… punishing yourself?” 

A beat. 

“No.” He said finally, but frowned. He didn’t sound convincing to his own ears. “Maybe. Not… Not entirely.” 

“Liam…”

“I don’t know, okay?! I…” He swallowed the boulder growing in his throat. “I don’t know…” Tears were in his eyes. 

“Liam… Liam come here, look at me.” Gently, like he would fall apart at the seems if he pulled any harder, Theo pulled him up to sit next to him. He felt like a ragdoll. “I… I don’t want you hurting yourself over this. Because of me. It’s not exactly the first time you’ve threatened to kill me.” He sounded like he was trying to make a joke, like he was trying to offhandedly laugh it off, but Liam knew better. 

“No…” He wanted to reach out and pull Theo close. Wanted to cradle him in his arms and wash away all his pain, but he didn’t feel he was allowed to, now. “No, but I still shouldn’t have said it. I hurt you. We… we aren’t supposed to hurt each other, not anymore.” 

Quiet. 

Theo’s arm snaked around his waist, gently tugging him until he was flush against Theo’s side, face tucked into his neck. 

“It’s fine. I know it wasn’t all you.” 

“It was enough of me.” 

Theo blew a harsh breath from his nose. Liam could picture his expression, the one where he squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips together in frustration. 

“It’s not fine, Theo. And I’ll say sorry until I can’t talk anymore if that’s what you want, I’ll break a thousand mirrors, I’ll–”

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Liam.” Theo snapped. There was a hint of a growl in his voice. “I don’t know what I want you to do, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

Quiet. 

Quiet quiet quiet. 

His psychiatrist once said that saying ‘thank you’ instead of ‘sorry was a good way to heal. 

Now’s a good a time as any to try. 

“Thank you…” He whispered, soft into the junction of Theo’s neck and shoulder. 

“For what?” 

“For staying here. For staying with me. For helping me even when I don’t deserve it.” His voice was wet. 

_The Sun. The Moon. The Truth._

It hurt to breathe. 

But Theo was there, Theo was always there. 

 

…

 

Later, as they lay in a tangle of limbs, wide awake and watching the stars from Liam’s window, Theo combs his fingers through Liam’s long hair. 

“What’s going on with you?” Theo whispered, and when he turned to face him, he had a soft puzzled expression on his face. “This seems… worse than usual.” 

He took a deep breath, two. 

He stared at Theo’s eyes, nose, lips, took in every line, every freckle every pore he could in the low light. He’d always been beautiful, unfairly so, distractingly so, but there was something breathtaking about him in the light of the stars and crescent moon above. Something primal, something that made his eyes want to burn gold and roam through the trees of the forest. 

He wondered if Theo felt the same. 

“I…” He whispered eventually, eyes slowly tracking back up to Theo’s. “I don’t know. It feels worse… It’s just…” 

Too much. 

Theo stared at him, always staring, right through him. Like he could see his thoughts, his mind, his soul.

“It hurts. I feel like I’m in over my head… and I don’t know what to do.” He finally confessed, voice so quiet Theo would need supernatural hearing just to pick it up. 

A beat. 

Quiet. 

“Okay…” Theo said softly, gently. Oh so gently. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” 

Liam stared right back. 

“We always do.” Theo whispered. 

He stared at Theo, searching, searching for something. He didn’t know.

Eyes, nose, lips. 

Quiet. 

_The Sun. The Moon. The Truth._

Slow, ever so slow, Liam leaned forward, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. 

Staring.

Lips to lips. 

Quiet, oh so quiet.


End file.
